


Grey into Dark

by ChookTingle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Transformation, Aroused Victim, Betrayal of Trust, Crying, F/F, Magic, Mentor/Protégé, Sex Magic, Sex to cure condition, Sexual Coercion, Victim POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChookTingle/pseuds/ChookTingle
Summary: Written for the tag 'Sorceress noncons [rapes] her favourite apprentice'.'all cats are grey in the dark'





	Grey into Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantrip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantrip/gifts).



The problem with being the only apprentice left in the tower with Cara was that when Morag figured something out, there was no one to show off to.

There was Cara, of course... but if you showed her something hoping for praise, you'd better be sure that it was praiseworthy.

If you came to Cara with a question, she'd help, and then she'd assign you extra reading material. If you showed her a project as proof of progress, she would note both its merits and its flaws in calm detail. If you brought her something to praise, just because you were proud of it, her eyes would crinkle up, she'd say something brief and pleasant, and... nothing after that. Morag had seen that time and time again, with other apprentices, much younger and sillier and more easily daunted than she was. If you asked for praise when you hadn't earned it, the cost was too high, because you wouldn't learn.

Morag wanted to learn. Really. But right now she wanted to bask in her achievement. Literally. She had whiskers, claws, and soft fur just designed for basking.

She wasn't rash. You didn't strike out into personal body transformations without someone to watch you, and so she'd practiced in front of Anna, in the last few weeks before Anna had received her Seal and gone home. Eventually, Anna had pronounced her competent to transform alone, but those first transformations had not been... good.

This was good. This was exactly right.

Morag stretched, extending unfamiliar joints, and revelled in the feeling of smooth, natural movement. Her eyes adapted with amazing swiftness to changes of light. She could jump and pounce. She could hiss and purr, and it all came easily.

In the back of her mind, the cat-brain was carefully suppressed. She released her hold on it, just a little, to see what its reactions would give her. Her cat brain was taking its emotional cues from her main brain: wariness, because of unfamiliarity, but also confidence and excitement. It wanted to sniff for other cat scents. It wanted to explore its surroundings, just as she wanted to explore its capabilities.

And there was no reason not to indulge in exploration. It was Morag's free afternoon, and the tower, which when full of apprentice workings was a map of hazards, was now swept and echoing, cobwebby and almost safe.

Time to see what a cat thought of the tower and its environs, and explore her shape through movement.

After the flutter of a bird outside the window tested Morag's control, she decided to stay inside, and to keep to the more well-used areas, where mice and rats were unlikely. (The whole of the Tower was layered with pest-deterring charms, but renewing them was one of the first chores new apprentices were set, and the results were... variable. Already she had discovered a perfectly innocuous room that Morag-as-cat couldn't go into at all, because the animal definitions had been set too wide.)

So she prowled through chambers and workrooms, following interesting scents, sniffing out boxes and corners, and learning how to balance Morag-thought and cat-thought. The chambers were interesting because of the scents, unavailable to maiden Morag, that offered insights into their previous occupants - but the cat was bored by them, and the cat's boredom diminished Morag's feelings of nostalgia and amusement and spite and loneliness and made her bored as well.

She climbed the stairs - leaping after a dust mote on the landing, just because she could - and found herself at the library.

Setting spells in the library was no apprentice task. Morag nosed in, curious to find out if the pest spell would block her here. It didn't, but the cat flinched anyway; here was the scent of magic as well as the feel of it that Morag could access.

But here there was sunlight, Morag thought, trying to coax the cat on rather than choking back its reactions. There, in a broad bar across thick carpet, by the window... And once she reached the bar of sunlight, she allowed herself to lie and stretch and... finally, bask.

She was content in the sunlight for several minutes before she heard the turning of a page.

 _Good_ : she'd clearly done well at creating the complex system of cause and effects between human thought and cat response, and cat sense and human reaction, because at the jolt of dismay that went through her human mind, her cat form merely twitched an ear.

 _Bad_ : there was someone in the library. Cara was in the library. 

She could picture her mentor vividly behind her: her long, pale hair, winged eyebrows more delicate than the snowflakes Morag had once seen caught in them, icy blue eyes that were certainly narrowed in concentration, robes sweeping across intricately tooled boots. Her clothing was always exquisitely formal, as though to remind her students never to presume too much familiarity, despite her willingness to help and teach, despite the close quarters they shared.

Morag's claws slid in and out of their sheaths, comfort-seeking, as she thought it through. First, she told herself firmly, she hadn't done anything wrong. She'd secured a more senior apprentice's approval to practice transformation on her own. She was allowed in the library. It might look like she was sneaking around, but she wasn't. Really, the worst thing was that she hadn't wanted to show Cara just yet - she'd wanted to show her when it was perfect. She didn't want Cara to know that Morag had been working on cat transformation, but if she did, there was nothing for Morag to be embarrassed about. It was all right.

And maybe Cara wouldn't notice. The wards on the library hadn't reacted to a cat. The wards on the outer doors were layered, and Cara set the spells against hostile intrusion herself, but Morag knew the theory of the spell, and cats didn't count as hostile, nor did a known student combined with a cat. The pest spell was set by apprentices, again. So even if it would be odd, it wasn't impossible for a cat - maybe one of the cats from Mistress Burnfoot's farm - to have wandered in.

So maybe, even if Cara did see her, she wouldn't comment. Maybe Cara wouldn't know.

The thought of masking herself from Cara by sheer competence of spellwork was such a delicious one that it overflowed from her human feelings to her cat ones, and she had to roll over and stretch her belly out in the sun in sheer greedy delight.

Fingers rustled on a page, again, and a chair moved. Morag clenched down on twin, surging emotions of worry and hope.

"Here, kitty, kitty," Cara said.

Morag let her ear flick again, thinking frantically. She could pretend to be startled, and run away. If Cara knew it was her, then later, if Cara asked about it, she could even say she had been startled - the cat instincts overriding her.

On the other hand - by one way of looking at it, Cara had just given her an instruction. And you didn't disobey instructions from Cara.

But _here, kitty, kitty_ wasn't much of an instruction.

But what if Cara had been taken in by the cat shape? That was what she'd really wanted, right?

So when Cara called again, she got up, slowly, paused as if she were thinking about it, and on the third call, walked over. The movements were right, she knew, but it felt like a terrible parody of how a cat would move and what a cat would actually pay attention to. She let the cat's brain come a little more to the fore so that the things that caught its attention caught hers.

Cara, sitting at one of the corner desks, put a hand down invitingly.

Her reactions were locked away, but somewhere deep inside Morag, she was giggling nervously. It felt so... personal to be sniffing Cara's hand with senses she could never access as a human.

Either sniff, or run away, those are your choices, she told herself, and delicately stretched out her neck. To her relief, there was not much to smell - a scent of soap she already knew Cara used, the scent of the pages and ink, and something musky she didn't dwell on. Very well - that hurdle was passed.

Cara reached her hand out further and rubbed gently behind Morag's ears.

That felt nice... Morag moved further towards her, still thinking frantically but getting nowhere with it. The cat brain was cautiously pleased. The cat's relaxation was slowing down Morag's panic, but not supplying anything useful instead.

There was nothing really to except to go along with this. Cara was stroking her, now, and it felt good. She leaned back into the petting. What would a cat do? Oh... she sprawled on the carpet, but managed to keep herself from baring her soft belly.

Cara laughed.

Right, well, this was fine, she'd just let Cara pet her, and then when Cara got bored she'd walk away again, and if Cara tried to pick her up she'd run away, and if Cara never brought it up again, she certainly wasn't going to. And next time she took cat form, she'd change the form a little - black instead of tabby, maybe, green eyes instead of golden.

It felt really, really nice, purely relaxing, and Cara paused to rub behind her ears between each stroke...

...And then Morag relaxed a little too much, and the cat form dissolved, and she was _a human woman sprawled on the carpet under Cara's hand_. Oh fuck. She'd taken precautions against danger or startlement or fear causing her to lose her shape - but not this.

She had no idea what to do. She'd layered a sight-blur under the transformation, but that did nothing when Cara was right there, her hand on Morag's bare back, fingers stretched over her naked butt. She froze. It was just a mistake. Any moment now Cara would cough, and take her hand away, and Morag would summon a cloak to wrap around her, and she'd get up and apologise, and, again, they'd never speak of this again...

Cara's hand had paused. Her breath might have hitched. Morag thought so, anyway. It was hard to figure out your senses in that moment of transformation. Cara lifted her hand.

And put it down again on the back of Morag's neck, playing a little with Morag's hair, and stroked down Morag's back again. Slowly over Morag's butt, and then - dipped her hand between Morag's spread thighs, stroking down one inner thigh, one knuckle brushing through the hair at Morag's pussy.

Morag could feel Cara's finger come into contact with the wetness there.

The shock of that contact gave her the necessary impetus to move. With practiced alacrity, she rolled slightly, scooting her legs up, and curling almost into a ball so that the cloak she summoned covered her from neck to toe, then did the clasp and shrugged a bit of it under her and wrapped it around and and got up - there. At least she wouldn't compound her mortification with clumsiness. At least.

"I'm sorry..." and what to apologise for? Attempting a trick? Failing the transformation? Or... no, she wasn't even going to think about that.

Cara looked at her gravely. "The shape was good," she said. "The sight shield was an appropriate precaution. Not bad. You need a more dynamic relationship between the shapes, and part of that comes with practice, and part, hm... Part of it needs a different way of thinking. I'll see what exercises come to mind."

Morag nodded rapidly, unutterably grateful at the note of dismissal in Cara's voice.

"The shape was very good," Cara repeated, and Morag had already turned to go, and didn't have to see the amused look she was sure Cara was wearing, but she could hear the echo of laughter in Cara's words.

She should have known. The praise you sought from Cara always came at too high a cost. She'd promised herself she wouldn't play that game, and then she'd done it anyway, and Cara had seen straight through her and... Quite definitely dissuaded her against trying it again. That was what that had been. 

After that incident, she would have been quite happy to forget about animal transformation for months - at least, maybe, until other apprentices arrived with the coming of autumn. But Cara did follow through with the exercises she'd promised to suggest, and if Morag didn't do them, she knew she was going to look sulky. Like a fool. She'd made a fool of herself and the best way past it was through.

And Cara _had_ said she'd done well.

So she practised again. She turned herself into a sleek, wiry black cat and a fluffy calico, into a ginger tom with a torn ear (deliberate injuries were so much harder than a mere change of biological sex), and back into the tabby again. She liked the tabby. She could weave her own golden-brown hair colour into the ticked pattern of the tabby's fur, and she liked the golden eyes. (When she took owl shape, Cara had golden eyes.)

She got better at balancing human and cat reactions. She got better at the language of scents, to the point where even in human form she could distinguish more nuance in a breeze.

Meals were interesting: she could _taste_ more precisely.

She knew Cara noticed the thoughtful way she sipped her wine or took a mouthful of soup.

Cara didn't ask how she was getting on with this project, but Morag knew she would, and although the transformation was good enough, now, really, Morag didn't want to show her until it was perfect...

Except the problem was, in the end, that it was too perfect.

After one afternoon of practising, Morag realised to her horror that she couldn't change back.

She could access parts of her body, of course, but she couldn't spring back into her form - the cat parts stuck, and dragged. Going back to full cat form was easy, too easy, and she kept returning to that and trying the return transformation again - but it wasn't working, and she could feel herself tiring, and she was afraid to sleep in this form, lest it harden around her. Sleep had a power of its own.

So, ears lowered and tail lashing, she went to Cara.

Cara, at least, comprehended the problem even before Morag opened her mouth (and it was a human mouth on a mostly-human face, but she couldn't get rid of the whiskers at the same time as getting rid of the ears).

"Oh, I see," she said. "Come up here." She patted the divan beside her, and waited, with silent patience, while a mostly-human, part-furred Morag floundered to the seat. Moving with limbs that didn't know what they were supposed to be was confusing; they felt heavy, wrong.

This time, Cara conjured up a sheet for her to lie under, without comment. "Work with me," she commanded, a hand on Morag's forehead. "Trelleth. Morator. Garluran. Trelleth. Morator. Garluran." Not actually spell-words, but nonsense words, part of the meditative chant that was one of the first things apprentices learned. Words you chanted as you moved through a series of stretches, words that recalled Morag's body to her now...

Except that it was hard to form the words, and Morag's body did not relax into its accustomed shape.

"Hm," Cara said. "Stubborn." Her eyes were narrowed, and a tendril of her long, shining hair was escaping from its ties. She tapped one blunt fingernail on Morag's forehead.

"There is a way to fix this that is simple and quick," she said, in a tone so mild that it rang alarm bells in Morag's sensitive ears. "I don't know if you'll like it." And then a terrifyingly brilliant smile, one Morag had never seen her wear before. "But I will."

Matter-of-factly, without asking, she pulled the sheet off Morag where she lay canted on her side. The fur still provided a pretense of modesty, covering her breasts and spreading across her pelvis, but under Cara's amused eye, Morag felt entirely exposed. She thought of hands knowingly stroking across her cat-form's fur. Morag let out a slight, unhappy whine. It didn't sound human.

"Hush," Cara said, absently, and curved her hand over Morag's left breast, and kissed her.

It was a firm kiss for all that her lips were barely parted - long, sure, and possessive. As Morag squirmed under her, Cara tightened her grip on Morag's breast, warm spreading from her hand, and - that felt good. She was horribly, horribly embarrassed, and halfway to panic, and she was equally, desperately aroused. She couldn't believe part of her _wanted_ this.

"No," she managed, a muffled sound against Cara's lips, and the only acknowledgement was the way Cara's lips curved in a smile.

Cara moved her hand down Morag's confused body, swirling her skirts and kneeling beside the divan. She stroked across Morag's pelvic fur.

"Lie on your back," she commanded, and Morag attempted to comply - her joints didn't entirely like it, her spine protesting, better suited the position curled on her side, but maybe it would be all over the sooner if she obeyed...

"Good," Cara said. "Very good." There was no mistaking the rich desire in her voice. Morag closed her eyes. Sometimes she'd imagined praise like this. Like this, and not like this at all. She'd imagined surprising her teacher, pleasing her, with her hero worship. She hadn't imagined Cara's smug amusement. She hadn't imagined Cara's oily laughter in the place of surprise.

"Hold your breasts firm for me," Cara said. "Squeeze them for me - I like the look of that. Careful of your own claws..."

Her fingers glided across Morag's downy stomach, and Morag twitched, not quite ticklish, not quite wincing - something else. 

"Yes," Cara said. "Good, so good." And then she bent her head and licked, sudden and wet and soft, across the throbbing lips of Morag's cunt, and Morag gasped. It felt too strange, and intense, as if Cara was too close, inside her skin with her - and it felt good. She'd never done that with anyone... she'd only used her fingers, and thought about it - and yes, once, _once_ , she'd imagined kneeling next to Cara's chair, and doing what Cara was doing now, as a reward for a perfect spell. But this was nothing like that. She hadn't imagined this.

Surely Cara was using magic as well as her tongue. Nothing could be this good, the way that each stroke sparked pleasure, the way the heat rippled out... The pleasure felt like something soaking slowly through her, something that rose and rose and rose with every stroke rather than something that could vanish with the cessation of Cara's careful, deft, drawn-out strokes of the tongue. She wished this were over. She wished Cara was going more slowly, slow enough for her to take in what was happening in every way.

"Your breasts," Cara reminded her, in the kind of tone that no one disobeyed, and without thinking, she clenched her fingers hard... Claws broke her skin, and she yowled.

Cara laughed. She pulled her head back. "Not enough yet," she murmured. She adjusted her position and slid two fingers into Morag's pussy. Morag was already so aroused that it didn't hurt - barely even felt like an intrusion. Grinning, Cara shoved her fingers in further, and Morag gasped. Cara pulled her fingers out and immediately thrust them back in, picking up a ruthless rhythm, and Morag bucked her hips desperately to chase that firm pressure. She was gasping, pathetic little gasps, utterly desperate for the orgasm Cara's fingers promised.

She squirmed. Her obediently-gripping finger brushed her right nipple. Her finger, without claws... 

"Look at me," Cara said, breaking up her thought before she could complete it. She looked up into her teacher's bright, excited eyes.

Cara laughed. And slapped her, hard, on her stomach. 

Morag's whole body jerked. Tears sprung to her eyes. Her skin smarted. "Why..."

Her voice, entirely human. Her eyes, possessed of tear ducts a cat didn't have. Her smarting _skin_.

"Do you see what's happened?" 

She'd barely regained her voice, and already she wished it gone again, because of course she had to answer. "I'm human again... because I fully relaxed." Her voice was so small in her own ears. She couldn't imagine how pitiful she must sound to Cara. How pathetic a word _relaxed_ was for her wanton moaning, the eager way she'd humped Cara's fingers. Even in her shame her body was aching for more of the same.

"You learn very well, Morag," Cara said. "So well that..." She trailed off, smiling.

"Please," Morag said, rasping, the tears choking her throat up now. "So well that... what?"

Cara's smile widened. She placed her hand deliberately on Morag's pubic mound again. "Please," Morag said again, and she couldn't pretend to herself she was asking Cara to stop.

Cara pressed her fingers almost delicately within Morag's folds, and magic came with them, and Morag _exploded_. It was a sensation that indescribably eclipsed every other physical and mental sensation she'd ever experienced, pleasure rushing through her like water, filling her like sunlight filled the topmost Tower, lacing through her veins and pulling her tight and releasing her. She screamed, and sobbed, and screamed through her sobs, and Cara's fingers kept their position pressing gently within her, while the pleasure receded from agony, passing through a strange, powerful elation to become merely pleasure again.

"So well that I may add certain things to your lessons," Cara murmured. "You are a delight, my dear."

For all the times that Morag had imagined hearing words like those, she'd never imagined hearing them through sobs, through the pounding in her ears of her own receding orgasm-storm, in a messy pile of tears and shed fur.


End file.
